The Last of a Blood Line
by thats-a-moray
Summary: Based off the Soul Reaver video game, the last surviving member of Raziel's clan clings to life in the swampy reigons of Nosgoth.


**AN: I'll probably be re-writing this story in the future. This is in no way connected to Wasteland Kingdom or Duality.**

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Screams carried over the horizon, as dark and morbid as a blood colored sun creeping over the horizon of Nosgoth. The very earth seemed to shudder and moan as the echo proceeded through the chasms and caverns, spanning across mountain ranges and great streams in its inescapable anguish. Or perhaps the sound emanated not from the massacred clan but from the core of Remus's destitute soul.

Remus choked on a bitter mix of tears and blood, head leaned against the staff that had protected him against the bitter mercenaries of Melciah's clan. Although the weakest of Kain's despicable minions those wretched cadavers were now fixated on his destruction as a way to prove their worth. They only wanted the glory of being the clan to capture the last surviving member of Razeal's prestigious bloodline.

For days Remus evaded capture in the swamps beyond Melciah's territory. If he could keep himself hidden long enough, surely, the transformation that had graced his master would bless him with the means to escape Kain's ravenous dogs. Concealed by fog that wound around the trees like a nest of quivering white serpents and protected by the acidic water of the bog, here, Remus was safe from vampiric attack.

Yet he was also a prisoner.

Days of wandering through the watery swamp left him exhausted and hungry. Moss and lily pads covered the water's surface, easily mistakable for solid ground; his cloven feet were already badly burned. Frogs, rats, and snakes were the only source of blood. A smack of thunder announced the encroaching rain—more water to smolder his body from head to toe. Remus, once proud member of the second highest bloodline in Nosgoth, was miserable, lost, and barely alive.

Grief for his fallen brothers held him to the island where he cowered. The over powering, massive loss came and went with occasion. Helplessness, mourning, and hunger caved in upon him in one agonizing swoop. Then, energy spent, Remus collapsed in the dirt.

Moments or hours later he resurrected from the realm of nightmares and fantasy. During his restless sleep Remus had involuntarily consumed a toad, its blood now sprayed across his hands and face. He had chased after it, squirming on his belly, and captured it just before it reached the water's edge. Body trembling with weakness Remus stood to recover his staff and continue his journey.

The machines Kain had harnessed to spew a blanket of clouds across the sky blotted out the sun, killing most of the trees. Huge dead trunks lay strewn throughout the bog, providing Remus with a convenient bridge across the deeper sludge pools, granted he could sustain his balance. No trouble at all for a younger more privileged Remus.

Frightened by the hammering of heaven's mallet the inhabitants of the swamp had gone stone silent faced with an oncoming storm. Remus blistered the silence with a lilting, delusional hymn sung with all his might:

_Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord!_

_He is trampling out the village, where the grapes of wrath are stor'd;_

_He hath loos'd the faithful lightning of His swift and terrible sword,_

_Oh, glory, glory_

_Hallelujah!_

The toads in this swamp were well known to contain poison in their blood. Whether it was terrible, stabbing hunger coupled with unfathomable loneliness or the vile blood of an amphibian that whisked him into song, Remus neither knew nor cared.

Wisps of smoke trickled up from the earth as Remus staggered down a muddy path. The soles of his feet hissed like super hot metal dosed with water. Black burns coursed up his arms and chest, covering every inch of exposed skin, and drawing his milky cheek with dark tiger scars. Pain was nothing more than an unpleasant memory.

"Hah, _glory! _There's no glory in succumbing to one's own petty jealousy," the crazed vampire mused. "Why, Kain—oh great and mighty leader, would you hurl your own offspring, your eldest son, your—your greatest ally into the abyss simply for a gift that he achieved first? None of us can surpass the master, not even Razeal. Surely your next transformation would be three times greater than Razeal's! You—you stupid fool. Ignorant. Wasteful. Bastard. I could make a better king than you!"

A flock of birds cried out as they flew over head. Ravens, the black birds symbolizing death. Remus looked at them, blinking his tired eyes in the manner of a man who had just received a sign he could not decipher.

After a pause Remus continued as though the epiphany never occurred.

"I _will_ make a better king than you! You'll never catch me, hah! I'll… I'll go into the mountains. Start a new clan with Lord Razeal's blood. You see Razeal was your eldest son, and I Razeal's eldest son. Now that he's left the state of transformation my transformation will come soon. I'll have wings, Kain, and how will you catch me _then? _

"That's why you've sent the clans after me, isn't it? You know what I'm up to. Well, now, I'm almost out of your grasp. Once I find my way out of this blasted swamp I'll start building my new empire in the hills. You'll—heh, heh—you'll have to send your armies on foot, march them through this whole damn bog before they can reach me. I'll just have to fly over! No matter what you think, you can't win."

"Remus…" A pitiful voice sighed.

Remus whirled around, gasping, his only weapon clutched with desperate might. It was a vampire! The self-righteous jaguar watched him lazily from a perch atop a fallen log, egotistically smirking as though dispatching Remus would scarcely leave a stain upon his pants.

"Kain! I should have known you'd come to finish this!"

But the vampire wasn't Kain, and he wasn't smirking.

"Oh, Remus, do you hear how delusional you've become? Our Master has better things to occupy his time with than chasing after a dismal creature like you. I shudder to realize what effect a few days stranded in a swamp has had on your sanity. You've sincerely lost your mind."

Confused Remus tilted his head and squinted through the fog. The voice was unfamiliar, but the markings singed upon his leather chest plate were, now that he had taken the time to look. This vampire bore the crest of Rahab's clan; the only clan to have adapted immunity to water's touch, enabling them to cross rivers and streams with human ease. Of course.

"Traitor," he hissed, as though Rahab had played the game unfairly. "You threw Razeal into the abyss, your own brother!"

"My name is Mortimer," the vampire barked. "Rahab sent me to find you. My God, you've gotten thick."

"It matters not who you are. You've come to kill me and I can't allow that."

Mortimer rolled his eyes. "This is the head-strong rebel I've been sent to destroy? You're weaker than a kitten. I doubt you've fed since Razeal's execution."

"Until now!" Zealously Remus launched himself at Mortimer standing tall upon the dead tree; staff thrust out to impale his would be assassin. Mortimer stepped to the side before he could complete the leap and, catching Remus in mid-air, he hurled the insane vampire into the ground with great force. Remus bounced and rolled, breaking his staff on impact, finally coming to rest face down in the grass, aching from head to toe.

Remus recovered to discover himself peering up the shaft of Mortimer's sword. Breathless Remus shut both his eyes and waited for death. A swift kick to the gut replaced the Reaper's sting, begging Remus to open his eyes.

"On your feet, wretch!" Mortimer sang as he lurched Remus up right, shoving him backwards and herding him with the end of his sword.

His smile was sadistic.

"If your bloodline is going to die by my hand it had better be a story worth recounting throughout the clans. Best start running, scum; this is your last chance."

Remus backed away from the sword. When Mortimer drew his blade for the first time the shinning metal behooved him with a fleeting moment of perception. Death was rushing towards him. He tasted bitter self-annihilation and knew his time had come. Then foul Mortimer thrust him away from night's soothing embrace. Now, quivering at the end of Mortimer's blade, Remus felt almost over-whelmingly compelled to throw himself upon it. Honor be damned. End this travesty and do it quick! Neck open and ready to except the blade Remus raised his eyes to the roaring sky, but Mortimer shoved him again. The dazed stare of Remus was swiftly broken the instant Mortimer's sword slashed a blood red line across the front of his chest. Suddenly Remus remembered what pain meant. He screamed and flinched under Mortimer's raised hand.

His face contorted in rage. "For pity's sake, you've won! You have your glory, why torment me further?"

Mortimer laughed with blood lust. As he let loose his vicious cackle the sky cracked and Remus felt a dull burning sensation as the first drop of acidic rain plummeted from above. Mortimer, the Rahabian vampire, acted all the more jovial.

"I relish the chase. Run. And I promise you'll die more quickly than your brothers."

A generous offer coming from one so cruel. Certain of his doom at the hands of this traitorous vampire Remus subversively turned his back and took flight through the casually mounting storm.

No point in conserving his limited strength when the finish was so close at hand. Remus ran without constraint, hoping to kill himself with fatigue before Mortimer could catch up. See if he could still enjoy himself with the task to decapitate an unresponsive corpse. The landscape of the swamp rushed by without heed. _Run._ Run until your bones have turned to water. He refused to stop for anything less than to watch his lifeless limbs disintegrate into dust.

The rain nipped feebly at his scorched skin, too numb to take notice of these minor stings. He knew he was falling apart. As he ran Remus pictured muscle unraveling, joints slipping out of place, while his ribs and spine tossed around inside of him without pricking a nerve.

Soon all notions of death slipped from Remus's diminishing grasp. Fantasy washed away unsteady perceptions of time and place, yet Remus was too passionately driven to lose pace. The desire to run ever faster defied resistance. He might have laughed from the pure madness of it all, had he possessed the wit.

Consciousness receded into dissonance. Dissonance fell down a void, into darkness.


End file.
